


If Only

by TruthandLies



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Malvie: A High School Musical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-20 07:45:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14256264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruthandLies/pseuds/TruthandLies
Summary: Evie has always been a loner. A girl trapped behind her mother's castle walls, where she's forced to learn about makeup and beauty and how to hook a prince. Her mother doesn't seem to care that Evie would rather hook a princess - or a wicked girl in leather.For the past four years, Mal has been Auradon Prep's resident freak. A girl who terrifies the other kids, who hides behind clenched fists and eyes of dragon-green, pretending it doesn't hurt that she's been labeled Maleficent Junior. Her one escape is tourney. She's team captain, and she will lead her team to victory - if her mother the tourney coach doesn't suck out all the fun first.Mal never expects to find another escape, one her mother cannot take away.Evie never expects to find a wicked girl in leather, one her mother cannot replace with a prince.But when their mothers force them to attend a New Year's party at a ski lodge, and they both somehow end up on stage, forced to sing a duet, each girl discovers what they've been missing: singing. And each other.





	1. Is This Just a Dream?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [courtneeyoung18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtneeyoung18/gifts).



> For cyoung1898, who requested _Malvie: A High School Musical_ on my [tumblr.](truth-from-lies-within-fiction) I hope you enjoy it!

The gymnasium crackles with Maleficent’s high-pitched cackles. “Come on, Mal!” She fires another round of tourney balls. _Boom, boom, boom_ , a miniature blast of would-be canon fire. “Dodge them. You’re never advancing to the minor leagues in this shape.”

Stinging beads of sweat drip into Mal’s eyes, blurring her vision. But she grits her teeth. And she thwacks the balls with her tourney stick, a solid weight within her fist. The balls bounce against the walls, _thump thump thump_ , missing their Mal-i-fied mark.

But she cannot strike them all. 

They’re too fast; her mother’s aim too frenzied.

The balls crash into Mal’s forehead, her chest, her stomach, making her double over and cough. “They never come at us this fast on the field, Mother.” A ball strikes her temple, upsetting her balance, forcing her to her knees. “Damn it. How am I ever going to train if you keep beating me up with balls?”

“Just giving up on me, are you?” Maleficent punches the power button on the ball-generator, cutting off the assault. “Is this how you plan to make our names shine in lights across every screen in Auradon?” She stalks to Mal, her lips coiled into the smile of a dragon-snake. “Maleficent, Creator of Mal, Number One Tourney Champion.” She holds up her fingers in a square-shape marquee.

Mal’s tourney stick slides from her hand, clattering onto the floor. “Not sure your name would accompany mine.” She swipes the sweat from her forehead. “I’m pretty sure it would be Mal: Tourney Champion.”

Maleficent’s smile capsizes into a scowl. “Not with the way you’re playing. No.” She pounces down on Mal, capturing her chin between forefinger and thumb. “It’ll be Mal: French Fry Server at Happy Nuggets.”

Mal yanks her chin from her mother’s bruising grip. “You’re taking the fun out of it, Mother. Stop.”

Maleficent waves her taloned hand. “You can have fun when you’re dead. Or,” she says, and her features brighten, “when you’ve figured out a way to help me take over the world.”

“I’ll get right on that.” Mal cracks her neck, wincing at the sting of her muscles. “Right after I dump myself into a steaming bath of salt water. Seriously, Mother. I’ll never win another match if you destroy my muscles with too much practice.”

“Practice schmactice.” Maleficent waves her hand as if swatting off a fly. A fly almost certainly named Mal. “You have no time for baths. It’s New Year’s, my dear girl.” She flicks her beating watch beneath Mal’s nose. “Time to party with all the other miscreant children taking up residence at this resort.”

Mal groans. “Oh, come on. First, you attack me with balls. And then you assault me with parties? It’s gonna be lame, Mother.”

Maleficent waggles her finger before Mal’s eyes. “What have I told you about complaining?”

Mal’s groan becomes a growl. “I can do it when I’m dead.”

“That’s right.” Her mother sings the second word, a gleeful sound. “Now go make some associations that’ll make me famous. You know. Princes and princesses we can kill or plunge into deep sleep when we’ve taken over the world.”

Mal rolls her eyes. “Why don’t I just prick their fingers on a spindle?”

Her mother taps her finger against Mal’s nose. “Now you’re thinking like a queen.” 

With that, Maleficent sashays from the room, leaving Mal sweaty and nowhere near ready for a party.

* * *

“Evil-ette,” Evie’s mother sing-songs from the entryway of their double-room. “It’s time for some make-up rituals.”

Stifling a groan, Evie sinks down onto the couch, sliding behind her science text. “Busy, Mom.” She glares at the words.

“Oh, nonsense.”

Evie can almost hear her mother sauntering across the floor, one-foot-in-front-of-the-other, shoulders poised. _(“A prince will never notice you if you slouch, Evelyn. Here. Walk like this.”)_

__Evie breathes in deep.

And her mother pounces.

Evie has just enough time to glimpse a section on molecules before her mother tears the book from her hands and tosses it onto the coffee table. “Lessons can wait. Tonight, you’re going to a party.”

Evie’s stomach spirals. “A party? Dammit, Mom. I don’t want to socialize with the kids at this lodge. Every time I see them, they’re whispering something about my books or my leather.” She flicks her fingers against her blue leather pants – carefully sewn and just this side of sexy.

“That won’t matter tonight.” Her mother taps Evie’s nose. “You’ll be wearing a silk dress that highlights all your beautiful curves. It’s the best way to attract a prince.”

“And has it occurred to you that since I’m gay,” Evie says, twisting from her mother’s tapping, “I don’t want a prince?”

Her mother perches herself on the edge of the couch and slides a compact from her purse, clicking it open to reveal a powder-keg of blush. “Be gay all you want, darling.” She clenches Evie’s chin with one hand and attacks her cheeks with a makeup brush using the other. “Just so long as you marry yourself a prince who owns a fancy castle with a mother-in-law wing.”

Evie cringes. “And when my prince catches me making out with a princess?”

“Oh, darling.” Her mother clicks her compact shut. “That’s what alimony agreements are made for.”

Evie sighs and slides her gaze to the window, where snow falls in plump flakes, icing up the glass.

* * *

The party is a world of glitter and plastic. 

Plastic hats shining with silver glitter.

Plastic cups decorated with golden glimmer.

Plastic NEW YEAR’S banners hanging limply in glittering half-lights.

Plastic people flinging out their glittery hands on the dance floor and vomiting their not-so-glittery alcoholic drinks into the vestibules of potted plants, all of them plastic.

“Yeah, Mom,” Evie whispers, flipping a page of her science book. “I’m gonna find a real prince here.” She curls deeper into the cushions of the couch, shutting out the party by losing herself in bright pictures of molecules.

But she cannot hide completely.

Chad Charming stumbles onto the cushion beside her, his plastic hat topsy-turvy atop his curls. “Hey, sexy,” he slurs, a half-finished cup of not-so-punchy-punch cradled in his sure-to-be-sweaty fist. “You readin’ again?”

“Looks like.” Evie holds up her book as if she is holding up a boy-shield. _And when I become a scientist, the first thing I’ll do is create boy repellant for every gay girl in Auradon._

“But why?” Chad tips his hat. “You know, you could be reading me instead…” He purses his lips and leans in closer.

Evie catches his not-gonna-be-kissed mouth between thumb and forefinger. “No kisses today, Prince Charming.” She tugs at his mouth, then shoves him backward, releasing her grip.

Chad’s body slumps against the cushions, but his head falls forward, his eyes suddenly that much closer to her cleavage. Cleavage clear within the lines of her too-tight silk dress: a dress that not only caresses each of her curves, but broadcasts them for marketing purposes.

Chad moans and licks his lips.

Evie pinches again, harder, holding his tongue captive. _If only Mom could see me now._ “Tell you what, Chad. You describe to me in scientific terms exactly what that drink is doing to your brain right now, and I’ll _read_ you.”

“Scientific terms?” he slurs, his words muffled between Evie’s pinch.

“Mhmm.” Evie flutters her lashes.

“Uh.” Chad slumps away from Evie’s assault, breaking contact with her fingers. He lifts the burning alcohol to his lips, taking a sniff. “All’s I know is this is really good. You wanna drink?” He pushes the cup at Evie, sloshing droplets onto her book.

Evie bites off a growl and tugs the cup from Chad. “Mmm,” she says, making a play of bringing the drink to her mouth. She scans the room and discovers a potted plant nestled beside the couch. 

“Whatchya lookin’ around for, sexy?” Chad clutches at the plunging neckline of Evie’s dress. And slips his fingers lower.

Yanking away, Evie empties the contents of Chad’s drink into the plant. “Oh, look.” She waves the empty cup before Chad’s bloodshot eyes, which dip back to her cleavage. She stomps on his foot, crushing bone. “All gone.”

“Oww.” Chad slides his foot from beneath Evie’s heel. “You stabbed me…” He frowns at the empty cup. “Wow. You drink really fast.”

“I sure do. Here.” She pushes the cup into Chad’s hand. “Go get me some more. And then maybe we can do some…” She strikes a pose with puckered lips. “… _reading_.” _Coupled with a lot more stabbing._

Chad’s pupils dilate, turning his eyes a lusty black. “Be right back.”

“I’ll be waiting.” Evie flutters the tips of her fingers.

She doesn’t have to wait long.

Chad sways into a crowd of dancers, where he bumps shoulders with a burly boy. The impact is so jarring, poor Chad tosses head-over-feet into a potted plant. He blinks and yawns, then closes his eyes. Soon, he’s snoring, his plastic hat tipped over his face.

Evie’s fluttering wave becomes a fistful of laughter. _No wonder Mom wants me marrying a prince. What would my life be like without one of those?_ Her shoulders spasm with such enthusiastic force, her head tilts and she finds herself gazing at a girl half-hidden in the shadows of the room’s crimson curtains.

The girl cradles a cup of punch in her hand. She sips at its contents, then winces and plunks the cup onto the windowsill. Mid-plunk, her gaze collides with Evie’s, their eyes locking together in a way that leaves Evie’s skin prickling.

She cannot see the color of the girl’s eyes.

The girl is a silhouette swallowed by the curtains, her features lit only by the radiant splash of snow fluttering outside the windows.

The girl slips a step closer, and the dim glow of stringed lights dances across her hair, turning it a midnight purple.

Song seems to swell through Evie’s mind, a rhythm thrumming to the race of her heart. Almost as if something inside of her is waking up. She curls her fingers into the couch cushion, intent on propelling herself to her feet.

But two other kids get to the girl first. A muscular boy with long black hair. And a slender girl Evie’s heard called Lonnie. A name whispered behind the hands of princes when she bested them in the lodge’s fencing tournament as her parents clapped and cheered.

The dark-angel-with-the-purple-hair twists around the shadows of her friends, casting another glance at Evie.

But this sends a signal to the boy, who turns, snake-like, and gazes at Evie with a grin. He raises his hand and quirks his finger, beckoning to Evie.

Evie’s heart hurricanes. She almost springs to her feet.

But the girl grabs the boy’s finger in a grip so tight, she threatens to break his hand. She tugs him to her, whispering words-that-must-be-hisses into his ear.

Not exactly the reaction of a girl who wants Evie to follow her friend’s summons.

She watches the girl for a heartbeat longer, watches as she punches the boy in the arm. _Yeah. Definitely doesn’t want me coming over._ Fire burns Evie’s cheeks. _Just because I’m into girls doesn’t mean they’re into me._

Disappointment is a bitter sting. Attempting to ignore it, she slips again behind her textbook, curling her knees to her chest. Losing herself in the colorful displays of molecules. 

It’s almost enough to make her forget the dark angel who continues to stare at her from across the room, her gaze so penetrating, it pricks at Evie’s skin.

Evie longs to know her. She longs to know if she feels the prickling, too.

Evie’s heartbeat is a tempest within her ears, broken up only by the room’s swell of song. A not-so-harmonious harmony pulses from a stage set up in the center of the room, where kids are being pushed by other kids.

The discord is uncontrollable.

Some genius has decided that the best way to ring in the New Year is to shine a spotlight on a bunch of unsuspecting kids, then parade each of them onto the stage, one after the other, where they’re handed a microphone and forced to sing. 

It’s a cacophony of karaoke.

One of the first victims pushed onstage is King Ben, who chuckles and clears his throat. “Is this thing on?” he taps the microphone, creating a static beat.

The room fills with catcalls and applause. “Bring it home, Benny Boo!” Princess Audrey shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Ben’s face flares crimson. “Um…” He turns and whispers something to the guy pulling kids onstage.

An upbeat melody soon strikes up, drowning the room in music, and then Ben’s voice drowns the room, too, as he serenades Audrey with a song that really does sound a bit too ridiculous.

When the music fades, Audrey cheers loudest, holding up her cup of punch-that-isn’t-really-punch. “That’s it, baby!” She sloshes the drink over the edges of her cup.

Ben takes a clumsy bow and shuffles offstage.

The next person pushed onstage is a guy named Doug who, judging from the newborn-pinkness of his face and the too-cheerful timbre of his laugh, would make some gay girl a kind-and-steady beard. He thumbs his glasses further up his nose and regales the crowd with a song about “be my guest” and “putting service to the test.”

“If Mom keeps pushing princes, and dark angels keep rejecting me,” Evie whispers to herself, flipping another page in her text, “I just might take him up on his offer.”

Once Doug stumbles from the stage, the spotlight spins its beam toward two kids: a boy whose freckles pop out onto a face gone pale beneath a head of two-toned black-and-white hair, and a girl whose bright blue eyes resemble the ghost-wide gaze of a deer caught in the path of a clattering carriage. 

As one, freckle-boy and deer-eyes sprint to Evie’s couch and scramble to hide on the other side of the armrest. 

Freckle-boy stares at Evie over the arm of the couch. “Hey.” He sticks out his hand. “Carlos.”

Evie offers her hand for a shake. “Evie.”

“Jane.” Deer-eyes’ voice wobbles. “And, uh, would you mind hiding us from that beam?”

Evie giggles. “Of course.” She holds up her science text, concealing Jane’s wild-deer eyes.

“Ohh, a science book.” Carlos leans forward. “Cool.” He starts to read, moving his finger along the text.

Evie smirks and holds the book straighter. Anything for a fellow science fan.

The beam flashes elsewhere.

Elsewhere being the corner where Evie’s dark angel is hiding behind her crimson curtains. She bares two beautiful rows of teeth in a definite growl, and disappears behind the curtain, leaving the beam to flash onto her two friends: snake-boy and sword-girl.

Snake-boy also bares two rows of teeth. Teeth so white, they glint in the darkness. He flexes his muscles and saunters to the stage. Along the way, he slaps hands with other kids and polishes his fingertips on the heart of his shirt, as if he’s saying, _I’m gonna rock this._

_Suave._ Laughter threatens to erupt from Evie’s lips, so she presses them together, holding it captive. _Guess he won’t be hiding behind my couch._

__As it turns out, neither will Lonnie.

She raises her arms and grins, much the way she did when she knocked Chad Charming onto his ass and stood above him, her sword held high and her boot pushed down upon his chest. 

Lonnie sprints after her friend, vaults onto the stage and knocks his knuckles. “Let’s do _Ways to be Wicked_ ,” she says, her voice amplified by her mic.

“Bad ass.” Jay turns and winks at a girl in the crowd, who swoons _(“He’s_ so _cute.”)_.

A raucous, rhythmic tempo ticks through the room, and suddenly, Lonnie and her friend are singing about each and every way to be wicked.

Evie taps her toe, longing to join them in their devilry. The words speak to secrets within her soul, almost as if some of the lyrics were created for her. 

She’s always been wicked.

The wicked girl who dares to learn. 

The wicked girl who dares to dress in leather.

The wicked girl who dares to crush on other wicked girls.

Like the one hidden behind the curtain, who peeks around a corner of fabric, first at her friends. And then at Evie.

Their gazes collide again, and sparks sizzle across Evie’s skin. _Maybe she is interested…_

__The girl is hidden in shadows, but Evie swears she’s also speaking to secrets in her soul. Almost as if the lyrics are meant for her, too. Almost as if she really is a wicked girl, like Evie.

The music fades, and the silence fills with applause.

Evie glances at the stage.

Snake-boy has handed the MC his mic. He’s leaning toward the man, his once-smug grin curled into the leer of Lucifer. He whispers something, then casts a glance toward the curtains. And a glance toward Evie.

Evie’s stomach somersaults. Bells of warning cling through her mind. 

Strictly speaking, it’s never a good thing when a snake smiles. 

It’s even worse when the snake wears the grin of Lucifer. __  
  
The spotlight flashes through the crowd. Its bright-white beam spins toward Evie. It illuminates the wrinkles of her couch. It splashes across the cups splattered at her feet.

And then it lands on her.

“No.” Evie holds up her hands. Shakes her head. “No, that’s okay.”

But the kids clap and cheer, and three of them pounce. The first two, Evie doesn’t recognize. The third is Audrey, who whispers, “Now’s your chance to be a princess, leather-and-books.” She tugs at Evie’s hands, yanking her to her feet. Audrey’s burlier friends push Evie toward the stage, where she stumbles up a step.

_Of all things blessed by Lucifer._ Audrey was the first kid at the lodge to scowl at Evie, ridiculing her leather, making fun of her books. _(“Not all of us can be royalty,” she’d said with a sneer, turning up her nose.)_

And now, here she is, pushing Evie onto a stage. Evie has never sung in public – not since the time her mother tugged her from the stage at summer camp, hissing, “You ever embarrass me in public again with that ridiculous voice, and I’ll feed you apples treated with poison.”

Evie fists her hands. “You want to see how well black-and-blue goes with pink, Audrey? Keep pushing me toward that stage and find…”

Her words falter when she loses the power of speech. It’s tangled up in a spectacle taking shape across the room, where Snake-Boy has joined Evie’s dark angel.

He tugs aside the curtains camouflaging the girl.

Her eyes glow a bright and lethal green.

Snake-Boy’s shoulders spasm, as if he is laughing. He lunges for her.

She lunges back, holding up her fists.

He catches her by the waist. And hoists her over his shoulder. 

She punches and she claws, but Snake-Boy delivers her to the stage.

Because Evie is not the only girl chosen.

This girl has also been chosen. This girl who, once onstage in front of the MC, growls and pushes away the microphone. This girl with purple hair the color of magic and moonlight and the pre-dawn sky. This girl with a wicked smirk that twists the corner of her lips, and leather pants that hug her body in places soft and welcoming.

She truly is an angel. An angel of all things wicked and dark.

A poisoned-apple flush burns Evie’s cheeks. _I’d sign an alimony agreement for her. Most definitely._

__The girl flashes her green glare at Snake-Boy. “Stick around, Jay. Once I’m done up here, I’ll tie your testicles into knots.”

Jay thumps his eyebrows. “Always trying to get into my pants.”

The girl growls. “It’s the best way to set the tiny things inside on fire, you –”

But her words fade. Fade when she spots Evie, hovering at the edge of the stage.

The burning green fades from her eyes. 

Her eyes darken as if with magic. Or with lust. 

“Never mind.” She snatches the microphone from the MC. “I’ll sing.”

Someone places a microphone into Evie’s hand, too. She doesn’t see who. For the first time, her gaze has locked with her dark angel’s outside of the shadows. They gaze at each other in the stage light, where Evie is free to glimpse every flicker of golden fire visible within the girl’s eyes.

A wave of music crests through the room, the notes harmonious, sweet. Longing.

Words are scrawled across a screen – words Evie’s meant to sing – but the song is stuck within her throat, the microphone slippery within her fingers.

Her dark angel smiles a smile of understanding. And sings for them both, her voice emerging in sensitive harmony.

_A million thoughts in my head. Should I let my heart keep listening?_  
_‘Cause up ‘til now, I’ve walked the line. Nothin’ lost, but somethin’ missin’._  
_I can’t decide: What’s wrong? What’s right? Which way should I go?_

Before, Evie had believed _Ways to Be Wicked_ was written for her.

Now, her soul claims this song as its own. These words are everything Evie has felt, every time her mother has forced her on a date with a boy.

_Something has always been missing._ Evie slides closer to the girl. _So why do I feel like the missing piece is standing right in front of me?_

But Evie still hasn’t reclaimed her power of speech. She cannot sing. The song is trapped in the thickness of her throat.

The dark angel narrows her eyes. “Sing,” she whispers, quirking her head at Evie’s microphone.

Evie blinks. Just blinks. In this moment, it’s the only motion she’s capable of making.

The girl frowns. Shakes her head. “Whatever,” she whispers again into her mic, before stepping toward the stairs.

_No._ The word screams through Evie’s mind. _No, don’t leave._ She jerks the microphone to her lips. And forces a shaky rhythm from her too-tense throat.

_If only I knew what my heart was telling me._  
_Don’t know what I’m feeling. Is this just a dream? Uh oh, yeah._  
  
It feels just exactly like a dream. The same dream Evie has spent her whole life daring to dream.

A gorgeous girl, gazing at Evie as though both Evie and the words falling from her lips are beautiful.

A gorgeous girl, stepping back to Evie as though she wants nothing more than to stand by Evie’s side.

A gorgeous girl, joining Evie in a world where it is just them. Them, and words that finally make sense.

Their voices lift and lilt together into a duet.

_If only I could read the signs in front of me._  
_I could find a way to who I’m meant to be. Uh oh. If only._  
_If only… If only._

__The girl smiles at Evie, a smile of so many truths, and gestures for her to continue solo. Solo, in a world where she’s suddenly exactly who she’s meant to be.

_Every step, every word, with every hour I am fallin’ in_  
_to somethin’ new, somethin’ brave, someone I – I have never been._  
_I can’t decide: What’s wrong? What’s right? Which way should I go?_

_But no. I know exactly what’s right. Which way I should go._ She tilts closer to her dark angel, who loops her arm through Evie’s and caresses Evie’s ears with another verse.

_If only I knew what my heart was telling me._  
_Don’t know what I’m feeling. Is this just a dream? Uh oh, yeah._  
  
A smile much like a dream forms upon the girl’s lips, meant solely for Evie.

And Evie knows: This is not a dream. The girl’s skin is too soft, her arm too warm. This girl isn’t a specter. She’s everything real.

They finish their song, and the crowd bursts into applause so wild, it’s a wonder it doesn’t rattle the windows.

For once, Evie’s just where she belongs. Each of the signs point to this moment, this girl. 

So she takes her dark angel into her arms. 

And hugs her, hoping she feels it, too.


	2. Should I Let My Heart Keep Listening?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a touch of magic for R-RK.

The world is crumbling. Shattering into fragments that make no sense.

Fragment One: Mal doesn’t have a heart. So what in Lucifer’s wicked hell is this palpitating pressure in her chest? And why does it intensify the longer she stands outside with her singing partner?

Fragment Two: Mal’s a tourney star. She slides across the field wielding a tourney stick like the heartless-tinman’s lethal axe, knocking over opponents with the grace of a predator striking her prey. Her body has never failed her. 

But tonight? 

Her body has turned traitor.

Which brings her to Fragment Three, Four, Five, Infinity: Mal would sooner scorch someone with her magic than allow them to touch her. So why is it that, out here in the snow-speckled moonlight, she can’t stop herself from tracing touches along her singing partner’s skin?

She has lost control.

She can’t stop her head from resting itself on the shoulder of her singing partner – Evie, the girl’s confessed.

She can’t stop her breath from catching in her throat when Evie tilts their heads together.

She can’t stop her fingers from stroking the back of Evie’s hand. Or the soft skin inside Evie’s wrist. Or the icy slope of Evie's delicate hand.

And she can’t stop herself from doing what she does next.

“You’re freezing,” she whispers, her voice too much a caress. _Get it together, Mal. You’re lethal. Wicked. You are not delicate or dainty or anything else associated with love._

Love?

Did that word really just blaze a path through her traitorous mind?

She grits her teeth. And flicks her fingers against Evie’s skin-tight skirt. “Why are you wearing such a short dress?” _There. Criticism. But it needs something more…_ She licks the dryness from her lips. “Is the pretty princess trying to hook herself a prince?” _Yup. A touch of sarcasm. That’ll do it. Aim and score._

Evie tenses and pulls away.

 _Fuck._ Mal's tongue seems to recoil from the stinged barb. She swallows, tasting self-inflicted poison. _Way to go, tourney star._

She cannot cradle cruelty. Not beside this girl.

Her magic sparks beneath her skin, melting the coldness that has for years cloaked her heart. “Sorry,” she murmurs, folding her fingers around the girl’s hand. Warming Evie’s icy skin with her own dragon fire.

“It’s okay.” Evie sighs and laces their fingers together. “It's Mother who's trying to hook herself a prince. Me? I’m just trying not to freeze.” She caresses the sensitive expanse between Mal’s thumb and forefinger.

Mal shivers from her touch. _Fragment infinity-and-one._ “Here.” The word is formed before Mal thinks it into existence. Her-body-the-traitor shrugs itself from her favorite touch-it-and-you-die leather jacket. And, before she can play interference, her arm rises, holding the jacket out to the girl. “This should warm you up, E.” _E? E???_ She bites back a groan. _I give up._

She’d thought her penchant for romance died a bitter death three years earlier, when her heart was pricked like a finger-by-a-poisoned-spindle. She meets Evie’s gaze. A gaze so heated, so penetrating, it slips deep inside her chest, melting more of the ice from her long-buried heart. _Guess I was wrong._

 __Evie’s face flushes strawberry-red. “Thanks,” she whispers, shrugging into Mal’s jacket. “M.”

The name hangs between them, another fragment. A fragment that somehow makes too much sense.

Mal wants to hear it again. She wants to dance in the song it makes as it slips from this girl’s perfect lips.

Even more, she wants to gaze at this wicked creature, responsible for cracking the ice around Mal’s heart, for alerting her to its existence. Who wears Mal’s jacket as though she has slipped into her own set of dragon scales.

“You look good in my clothes,” Mal says, the words emerging thick and smoky. She tilts her head. The collar is tucked around Evie’s shoulders. _Not where it should be._ “There’s something missing.”

“Oh?” Evie’s smile is a whispery thing, playful and curved higher at one corner. “And what’s that?”

Mal’s fingers shake as she lifts them to the jacket’s collar. “There,” she says, flipping the collar upward. “Perfect.”

Evie catches Mal’s hands in both her own, cupping them to her cheeks. “But what will you wear?" she whispers. "Won’t you be cold?”

 _Not a chance._ “I’m fine.” _I have never been so_ not _fine._ Her palpitating heart crashes against her ribs. She drops her gaze. And pulls her hands away, scuffing her feet against the snow-frosted deck.

The truth is, she’s never been more hot. Her dragon fire blazes through her blood, sparking together with something she can only describe as _Evie._

She clenches her fingers into fists, pricking her palms with her short nails. _Get your head back in the game, Mal. You’re cruel. Cold. Calculating. A dragon bitch from hell._ “So your mom wants you to catch a prince, huh? And you have absolutely no interest in sucking up that kind of status and wealth? A pretty pink princess like you?”

Another distancing tactic. Character assassination. Dangerous.

But Evie’s next move is lethal. She steps behind Mal. Slides her arms around Mal’s waist. And pulls the Dragon Bitch from Hell into her embrace. “There’s nothing pink about me,” she whispers into Mal’s ear, her lips starlit warmth. “And I’m not into princes. I’m into wicked girls in leather.”

 _Fuck-squared. Fuck-with-a-cherry-on-top._ Mal swallows a moan. But she cannot stop her traitorous head from falling onto Evie’s shoulder. “Careful, E.” _There it is again._ Her tongue thrills at the word. “You have no idea how wicked I really am.”

“Oh?”

“No idea,” Mal echoes, closing her eyes at the feel of Evie pressing into each of her curves.

“You’re not doing a very good job of convincing me.” Evie nips at her ear.

This time, Mal cannot suppress her moan. “Give me a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Evie slides her chin onto Mal’s shoulder and kneads the hem of Mal's shirt, tucked around Mal's waist.

Yeah. It might take longer than a few minutes if Evie keeps touching her like this...

The crackle and crack of static sounds across the deck. “Get ready, campers. Two minutes to midnight.” A voice squeaks through a loudspeaker. “And find a good place outside. The fireworks will start when the clock strikes twelve.”

The sliding glass door bangs opened, and a flurry of voices fills the snow-speckled world.

As if summoned by Mal’s fairy magic, a group of kids from Prep steps up beside her and Evie.

The kids glance at Mal.

Their eyes fly wide, their faces paling. 

“Is that Maleficent Junior?” someone hisses. “Someone better warn science geek.”

Evie’s arms tense around Mal’s middle. “What did they just say?”

“Nothing.” Mal’s cheeks burn. 

And then so do her eyes. 

Burn when the kids whisper at her and Evie behind closed hands.

Burn with the mocking reminder that she is dragon, she is fae. She is her mother’s daughter. Forever possessed by the blood of villains, as evidenced by the glow of emerald hellfire burning in her gaze. “Boo,” she mouths at the kids.

They gasp and jump back.

Mal’s Lucifer’s heart twists, but she ignores the pang. She is who she is. Nothing – no one – can ever change that.

Not even a dragon goddess like Evie.

Evie, who tightens her hold around Mal’s waist. “They’re idiots, M.” Her breath dances across the shell of Mal’s ear. “You don’t scare me.”

Mal curves her fingers around Evie’s arm. “I should,” she whispers, so quiet the words are lost in the howl of wind.

Evie tucks Mal’s head beneath her chin, holding her close.

Somewhere nearby, people begin to chant a countdown of time.

_Ten…_

_Nine…_

_Eight…_

__Mal clenches-unclenches her fingers around Evie’s arm, savoring the security of her embrace.

_Seven…_

_Six…_

_Five…_

__Mal’s muscles unclench. Her breathing deepens.

_Four…_

_Three…_

__A group of kids huddles in a corner, hissing and pointing at Mal. She ignores them, staring at the sky and thinking only of Evie. The girl who believes she’s something other than Lucifer-spawn.

The burn fades from her eyes.

_Two…_

_One…_

An explosion of cheers breaks across the deck.

An explosion of fireworks blooms across the sky. Crimson fingers and blossoms of orange. Amethyst stars and sapphire sparks.

“Happy New Year,” Evie says, nuzzling the top of Mal’s head.

Mal has never felt so vulnerable.

Cradled in the arms of a girl who makes her heart thunder.

Lost in a world where it is just them, and everything has suddenly been made new.

“Happy New Year,” she echoes, her voice full of husk. She plays with the leather sleeve snug around Evie's arm. “So you never told me. Where are you fr –”

“Evelyn.” It is the squawk of a vulture. The hiss of a snake. “Evelyn Ruby Grimhilde, you let go of that miscreant creature and come to me at once.”

Evie’s arms spasm around Mal’s waist. And then go limp. “Give me your phone, M.” Her words tumble together.

Mal shakes her head. “But –”

“Now.” Evie pulls away. “Quick.” She shoves her own phone, silver and sleek, into Mal’s hand. “And give me your number.”

“I don’t…” _understand._ But one glimpse into Evie’s lightening-flash-eyes steals her words. She slips her phone from her pocket. “Okay. Here.”

Between shattered breaths and splintered heartbeats, Mal taps her number into Evie’s phone. She snaps a selfie, immortalizing the face of the Dragon Bitch for the Dragon Goddess.

Evie snatches her phone from Mal’s hand, then replaces it with Mal’s phone. “My number’s in your contacts. I’ve gotta go.” 

Mal whirls to discover Evie dashing across the deck, her head bowed against the fall of snow, Mal’s jacket snug around her curves.

“Evie! You have my…”

But it’s too late. Evie’s been intercepted. By a woman with a scowl that sinks into her cheeks and makes her eyebrows draw together like bat wings. With a swoop of her arm, she pins Evie against her side and rushes her away, casting Mal a glare that screams _Stay away from her, you filth._

Mal scowls, sending her own message. _No chance in hell, you evil witch._ She takes a step toward Evie.

“Well.” Mal’s mother’s voice slinks through the shadows. “So this is how you intend on taking over the kingdom?” She stalks across the deck, her eyes burning green.

“Mother.” Mal freezes, her voice sticking like ice. “What –”

Her mother pounces. Grips the hem of Mal’s shirt and tugs her close. “I know you’re stupid, Mal. I accepted that long ago. But trying to get into the pants of the Evil Queen’s prissy brat?” She burns Mal with her stare, green hellfire that scorches beneath Mal’s skin, blistering at the surface. “Even I thought you were better than that.”

Mal’s eyes burn green, too. But not for long. Her mother’s stare is too intense. The magic in her mother’s veins too potent. Mal is burning. Burning in her mother’s emerald fire.

She shudders and closes her eyes. _The Evil Queen. Of course._

* * *

An hour later, Mal’s body blisters. Blisters from her mother’s magic, which scorches like wildfire, chasing her own magic into an unreachable realm deep inside her soulless soul.

Her mother is pure dragon.

Mal doesn’t have the power to stop her mother’s magic.

She doesn’t have the power to resist her mother’s strength.

It is scalding, scarring magic that sears everything Mal is into ash.

Mal wraps her arms around her body and trembles, wrapped up in her sheets.

Darkness creeps into their room, skittering shadows across her mother’s face. 

Her mother, who is tangled up in her blankets in a bed opposite Mal’s, snoring. Like nothing has happened. A series of purple puffs spiral from her mother’s nostrils. So innocent. So mocking.

Mal curls into a ball beneath her own blankets, shuddering in the relentless scorch of her mother’s magic.

Tonight, she thought she’d found an escape. A beautiful girl. The wonder of song.

But there is no escape. Not from her mother. Or from her mother’s plans. Or from the other kids, who stifled laughter as her mother dragged her from the party, muttering about _daughters who disobey._

_But I found a reason to disobey. Evie._ Mal kicks aside her sheets. They are too warm. They are sweltering. _And I’m not letting her get away._

Her mother’s dragon snores heighten into dragon growls.

Mal snatches her phone from her bedside table. And stalks to the doorway, throwing open the door.

The cool blast of snow caresses her skin, diminishing the heat of her mother’s magic. Offering the blistering bliss of relief.

__

Mal taps into her address book and then onto Evie’s number. 

Evie’s face pops onto the screen. Her eyes are dark, frightened, but her lips curve into a smile of promises and hope.

She’s the prettiest girl Mal’s ever seen. Knock-her-in-the-gut gorgeous. And when they sang together? For a wild second, everything made sense even as the world dissolved into senseless fragments.

Fragments not senseless at all.

Mal has a heart. A heart that thrashes when she’s with Evie.

Mal likes to be touched. She could lose herself in the feel of Evie’s skin.

Mal likes touching Evie. She could spend the rest of her life holding that girl in her arms.

 _Tomorrow._ Mal smooths her fingertip along Evie’s features. _I’ll find her before we leave. Maybe there’s a way..._

But even as she thinks the idea, she knows it’s hopeless.

She’ll never escape Mother.

And she’ll never convince the other kids that she’s anything other than Maleficent’s clone. Which means she’s forever destined to walk in her mother’s shadow. Alone.

* * *

Alone in the shadows, Evie slides tape across the torn pages of her science book. She’s careful not to wake her mother, who sleeps beneath the shelter of a beauty mask.

__

Mother’s face has mottled back to porcelain, the bluish anger no longer marring her skin. But her handiwork remains, torn across the pages of Evie’s tarnished book. _(“You forego my rules. You prattle about not with princes, but with princeless trash. This will be your punishment, Evelyn. Now give me your precious book.”)_

Evie slides the last piece of tape into place, stitching her friend back together again. Scowling at its scars. 

Before tonight, her science book had been among her only friends, along with dozens of other books she held precious. A friend she curled up with inside her desolate castle, where the sea crashed against the stones and no one ever dared venture. Not with her mother’s reputation as the kingdom’s poisoned-apple sorceress.

Evie and her books lived a life of loneliness, tucked away from other kids. She’d hoped to make friends at the lodge – but with her leather and her love for learning, that had proved more disastrous than tasting Mother’s apple pie.

Until Mal. 

Her newest friend among friends. 

A friend she can touch, and who touches back. A friend whose voice is as sweet as song. A friend whose jacket is snug around her body, and smells of leather and Earth and Mal. Just Mal.

Evie caresses her beautiful book.

And then she slips her phone from her pocket and punches the link for Mal’s number. 

Ten digits flash upon the screen. And so does Mal’s photo.

__

Evie caresses this friend, too. Caresses her purple hair, brilliant like purple flames. Caresses her practiced pout, molded upon her perfect lips. Caresses the fire in her eyes, such a vibrant green.

She doesn’t care what her mother says. Singing with Mal is like waking up from a nightmare-turned-into-the-best-kind-of-dream. And tomorrow, she intends to find her before they leave. _Because I don’t want a prince. All I want is to sing with her again. Tomorrow, I’ll let her know…_

* * *

Tomorrow arrives in a swirl of grey skies and flutters of snow. 

The grounds crowd with people elbowing their way through foot traffic to reach the parking lot, eager to hop into their carriages or cars and begin their journey home.

Both Mal and Evie are elbowed so many times, they lose track of whose elbow belongs to who. 

Mal growls and seizes several elbows, but none of them belong to a girl with blue hair – and none of the people who snatch their elbows back again lead her any closer to Evie.

Evie smiles and curtsies and flirts her way through the elbowish sea, asking each elbow owner if they’ve seen a glimpse of purple hair.

But she does not find Mal. 

And when they reach the parking lot, Maleficent drags Mal one way, Evie’s mother drags Evie another, and each girl is lost to the other.

And so it goes: A new friendship torn apart. But then again, there’s always…

**One Week Later: Auradon Prep, Auradon**

“Oh, King Be-en,” Evie’s mother sing-songs from the doorway of the headmistress’s office, where Evie has just signed her life away to a new world of prep-school-instead-of-home-school and mystery-cafeteria-meals-instead-of-gourmet-lunch. 

_“Because going to Prep is the best way to find a prince,” her mother had grumbled, glaring at Evie’s stitched-up science book. “And you’ll do just that, Evelyn, or there will be worse punishments than torn books.”_

__King Ben glances up from his group of friends. He pastes a toothy smile onto his kingly face. “Evie. I didn’t know you went to school here.” He steps through the sunlit shadows of the hallway, closer to Evie and her evil-apple mother. “Hi, Evil – Ms. Grimhilde.”

Her mother scowls at the unflattering formality. _“I am a queen,” she has said in the past, puffing up her chest. “No matter what the riff-raff might try to call me, I am royalty.”_

 __Today, she does not puff up her chest.

She fluffs Evie’s hair. “As of today, she does,” she says, then hisses into Evie’s ear, “Stand up straight.” She grips Evie’s waist, tugging her into formation. 

Evie stumbles against her mother’s side, stifling a groan.

One plus of coming to Prep? She won't be living at home.

Her suitcase is upstairs in the dorms, stuffed full of makeup and etiquette books – and the few leather garments Evie managed to squeeze inside.

Mother curves her lips into a seductress’s smile. “And I understand that you, Ben, are on the Scholastic Decathlon team. You must be so smart.” She laughs a school-girl laugh of blushes and giggles.

Evie’s cheeks flame, so she hides them behind her hand. “Mother…”

The whispers of kids and the drip-drop of fountain water echo through the hall, joined by Ben’s soft laughter. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not the captain or anything.” He waves at a group of kids, who stare at Evie and her mother while hissing secrets behind closed hands. Because of course they know who Evie is. Of course they do. “I’m just good at the political questions.”

“Well, my beautiful little girl here,” her mother says, pinching Evie’s cheek, “is a genius when it comes to science. You two should really spend more time together.” She pushes at Evie’s back, sending her stumbling toward Ben. 

Evie slips over the toes of her boots and lands lopsided in Ben’s arms. _For all that is evil._ This time, she does not stifle her groan. __

 __Ben’s face pinkens like fresh melon. “Hello,” he murmurs, gripping her waist.

“Um.” Evie plants both her heels back onto the floor – a movement that causes her to stumble closer to the king. “Hey.”

“Oh, look at that.” Evie’s mother’s voice is a blend of squawk and mewl. “You already make a perfect couple.” She waggles her crooked finger at the king. “I’m counting on you to take care of her now, Ben.” 

Ben’s melon-ish face ripens and turns red. “Of course.”

“Good, good.” Mother reaches over to pinch Ben’s cheek. “Such a handsome man.” She winks. And then she turns on her heel and saunters down the hall, humming the tune to that ever-popular classic, _Evil Like Me._

 __Kids shuffle from Mother’s path, clasping their books to their chests as though they are makeshift shields. Someone actually covers their mouth, as though fending off any bits of apple that might come flying off Mother’s skirt.

As one, the crowd turns and glares at Evie.

“Lucifer.” Evie slips out of sight, rounding a corner into a row of lockers.

Ben follows after. “I think your mom may have just set us up.”

“Y’think?” Evie slams her head back against a locker. “It is what she does best.”

Ben smooths the Evie-collision wrinkles from his shirt. “And you just go along with it?”

“Of course not.” Evie slams her heel against a locker, causing it to clang. “But Mother hasn’t figured out the meaning of _hey, Mother, I’m gay_ , so I’m not sure what else to do.”

__

Ben’s lips form the letter O. Apparently, the king has no other words.

“Don’t worry.” Evie waves him away. “I promise not to make out with you or anything. Well,” she says, unable to stop a smirk, “unless you wear a skirt.”

Ben laughs. “This is a good thing. My girlfriend, Audrey, might get jealous.”

 _Audrey. Of course._ Rather than rolling her eyes, Evie closes them instead.

Mal’s jacket is snug around her body. Smelling still of leather and Earth and the unmistakable fiery scent of Mal.

She fingers the triangles of leather, her heart thrumming a rhythm of promises. She’s away from Mother now, her phone in her pocket rather than in Mother’s desk drawer. No one can stop her from calling her dark angel.

“Listen.” Ben’s voice is softer, curved with compassion. “We all have parents who want us to be something we’re not. You’ll find that at Prep, we’re pretty accepting of whoever you are.”

 _Really?_ Evie snaps open her eyes.

Ben stares back through a kaleidoscope of gold, his gaze steady and unflinching.

“You’re sweet, Ben.” She slides away from the locker, standing straight. “But are you sure about that? Your girlfriend wasn’t too accepting at the lodge.”

Ben cringes, disrupting the steadiness of his gaze. “I know she can be a bit much. But Audrey is –”

What Audrey is or isn’t may never be known.

Because before the words can dance like half-truths from Ben’s smiling-lips, a scream echoes through the hall.

A scream accompanied by a flaring orange glow, which flickers along the walls in half-states of darkness and light.

Kids rush down the hall. Some drop books. Others push into classrooms, slamming doors. A few huddle together, backing into the shadows.

“Say it again, Chad.” A familiar voice, as dark as a melancholy chord of song. “I dare you.”

Chad Charming steps backward past the lockers, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’d be careful, Mal. You wouldn’t want Fairy Godmother to see you.”

The flare of light glows brighter, and suddenly, it isn’t a flare at all. It’s a tendril of flame, dancing along the fingers of an angel dark and wicked.

Mal – _Mal? –_ steps into the space between lockers, curving her fingers around her fire. Beckoning Chad closer with a quirk of her fingertip. “Say it to my face. Tell me I’m just like my mother.”

“Well, obviously.” Audrey pushes into the space, too, her nostrils flared. “Only a villain would threaten someone with fire.” She points at Mal’s flames. “God. You are such a Maleficent Junior.”

Evie curves her fingers into fists.

Mal tears open her mouth, maybe to argue. But she freezes. And blinks. And glances down at her hands. “I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” Audrey sneers. “Didn’t realize you’d created fire?” She throws up her hands. “I keep warning FG about you, but she never listens.”

“That’s because everything you say is a lie,” Mal snaps. There's a hint of wounded warrior in her voice.

Her flames fade, flickering into sparks.

And then the sparks fade, too, diminishing into smoke.

Mal stares at her smoking fingertips. “I wouldn’t have scorched you.” The words are quieter than the air conditioning wafting through the vents. “I’m not my mother.”

Audrey narrows her eyes. “Both you and your mother should be in prison. Preferably far, far away. On an island where no one can ever reach you.” She jabs her finger at Mal, the talon of a beast. “You’re both villains.”

 _Oh, that’s it._ Evie steps away from the lockers, striding toward Mal. And Audrey, the girl-without-a-clue-who’s-about-to-get-one.

Ben gets there first. “Okay.” He places himself between Audrey and Chad on one side, and Mal on the other. “I think –”

But his words fall silent when Evie steps between him and Mal.

Evie pulls Mal into her arms.

Mal, who looks for all the world like a fallen angel. An angel broken, without wings.

Mal breathes her in. “Evie?” It is a whisper. It is a prayer.

Mal is not her mother.

She is so much more.

 _Just like me._ Evie slides her fingers through Mal’s hair. “Guess what?” she whispers. “We go to the same school.”

“I’d step away, leather-and-books.” Audrey’s voice is poison-laced. “She might set you on fire.”

“And I might force feed you apples.” Evie’s voice is nothing more than a growl. “So you should shut your mouth before I shovel it full of fruit.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Audrey sing-songs. But she backs away into Ben’s arms.

“You might want to listen to her, E.” Mal caresses the shell of Evie’s ear with her breath. “Haven’t you heard? I’m evil. The daughter of Maleficent.”

Evie pulls her closer, shielding her in the circle of her arms. “And I’m the daughter of the Evil Queen. You’ve got nothing on me, Dragon Girl.”

Mal sighs. And melts into Evie’s arms.


End file.
